


Undead Ex-Girlfriends and Other Undesirables

by kinzeylee



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Child Death, Death, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Post-Series, References to Depression, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7062445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinzeylee/pseuds/kinzeylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years down the road, Cami and Hayley are roommates. Time changes all things, and nothing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undead Ex-Girlfriends and Other Undesirables

**Author's Note:**

> Being a witch-vampire-werewolf hybrid, Hope’s a special case for everything, including the issue of longevity. She ultimately decides to live out her life naturally, however long that is, rather than pursue some kind of immortality. This is the aftermath.

**2247**

She gets up early on the day because her dreams become too horrible to sleep. She tries to be quiet in her movements: stealthily creeping on the hardwood floors and futzing with the organic synthesizer, but eventually Cami hears her and comes out of her bedroom.

“If you want me to come with you…” she offers, but Hayley shakes her head.

“I’m not going this year,” she says.

Camille’s eyes say everything her words don’t.

“Seriously,” Hayley says. “I’m not. Wouldn’t you say this is a good thing, Doctor? Me overcoming my grief?”

Camille crosses her arms and purses her lips. Finally she says, “You know what I’d say, Hayley.” She ghosts into the next room over, leaving Hayley to tinker with the synthesizer.

When she finds it broken later, she doesn’t comment.

 

**2099**

Hayley finds her in the cemetery, in the dark, alone. Naked, too, and unconscious, her blonde hair hiding away her face. But she knows who it is, and so she stows the woman away in her apartment before the sun rises. She spends the remaining night by rustling up a witch who she can threaten into making a daylight ring.

When she gets back, the sun is creeping up and Camille is awake. Hayley tosses her the ring. Next comes a change of clothes.

“Welcome back,” she says.

Cami slips on the shirt and then flexes her hands, watching the ring flash on her finger. “Thanks,” she says. “I hoped you’d get my message.”

“Yeah,” Hayley says. She’s still in the phase of numb shock. “I got it. I…I don’t even know...” She finally settles for: “How?”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Cami says. “Later.”

And she does, eventually, over years and years. Hayley ends up wishing she didn’t know.

 

**2133**

They’re drinking wine, two older single women lounging on a couch, drinking wine and getting drunk, and they’re talking about death. When the fuck did her life become bad chick lit?

“Death was boring,” Cami says lazily. “It was cold. And dreary. And there was so much more I wanted to do in life. I wasn’t done yet.”

Hayley nods. “And look at you now. An academy for hunters of the supernatural, run by a vampire, in the very heart of New Orleans.” She means it in an awe-filled way, but it still comes out as sarcastic. Her default setting, apparently. Cami grimaces.

“Not hunters of the supernatural,” she corrects. “Protectors of the humans.” She shifts on the couch, sprawling out gracefully with wine glass still poised artfully in hand. Cami has always reminded Hayley of a cat.

“I still remember how vulnerable I felt, once I knew the truth,” Cami continues. “I felt powerless over my own fate. I never want anyone else to feel the way I did.”

“Well, you’ve done it,” Hayley agrees, swirling her red merlot around in the glass. She could really kill for a beer right about now. “New Orleans is a safer place now. I’m…glad you came back. We missed you.” And then the tension in the room is nearly tangible. _What a stupid fucking thing to say._ Because of course she meant _me_ , _Marcel_ , _his vampires_ , _my werewolves_ , but the unspoken names hang heavy over their heads.

And then because she’s not been making good life choices recently, she says, “Fuck them.” Very loudly. She feels the skin of her cheeks heat up.

To her surprise, Cami toasts to that. “Fuck them.” She agrees, “And let’s hope they stay the fuck away from us.”

“Here, here,” Hayley slurs.

 

**2120**

_How’d you do it_ , Hayley sometimes asks.

_There are many ways_ , Cami says, evasive as always. _Make a deal with a spirit, bargain with the ancestors. Or you can go to other, darker things._

_But how’d you do it_ , Hayley stresses.

_I kicked my way out_ , Cami says. _Making a bargain and then…owing something on the other side would have been quicker, but it wasn’t worth the price. So I did it by myself. And really, you hardly feel the passing of time when you’re on the other side._

But Hayley is fixated. _You can just kick your way out?_

Cami snorts. _It wasn’t easy. But if you’re determined enough…if it’s what you want more than anything else…_

_But, really, anyone can do it_ , Hayley says. _Anyone. If they really want to._

Cami looks away. _Yes_ , she says. _Their choice._

It always has been.

 

**2142**

Cami comes bursting through the doors, panic and fear etched into her face.

“The _Mikaelson's_ are back in town,” she says, and that’s all it takes for Hayley to scramble off the couch.

“Oh fuck,” she says, “did you warn Marcel?”

“Marcel warned _me_ ,” Cami hisses as she throws open one of the many trunks that litter their small apartment. Hayley always complains, but Cami says _easy access makes for faster defense_ , and fuck her if the shrink isn’t right. She knows Cami’s going for the blood barrier so she digs into the piles of deadly antiques until she’s found the-stars-that-boil-blood-when-activated. She tosses one to Cami, who snatches it out of the air.

“Okay,” she says, “so it’s no big deal. We just stay out of the quarter for a few weeks until they’re gone. Maybe stay inside altogether. We planned for this. We follow the plan.” She sounds hysterical. And her hands are shaking. Fuck.

“We should go underground,” Cami says. “Just to be safe.” The unspoken: _they’ll come looking for us, one way or another._

Hayley remembers when she killed Aya. It had been a justifiable death. She remembers Aurora, too, and Gia and Genevieve and Céleste. Her stomach rolls.

“Okay,” she says, “underground. That sounds good.”

“Grab the go bags,” Cami orders as she runs into her room. “They may decide to stay for a while.”

_Like hell am I getting chased out of my own city_ , Hayley thinks, but she remembers when he once said something to that effect, too. She gets the bags from the closet.

 

**2099**

_What happened_ , Cami asks.

Hayley shrugs. _Everything ended_ , she says, _and we broke apart_.

She can see the shock on Camille’s face. _They didn’t…they just…_ she stutters to a stop. Eventually she finds the words. _They just left?_

_Always and forever doesn’t include us, Cami_ , Hayley hisses. _It never did. She was the only thing binding us together, she was the glue, she was…everything. And now she’s gone._

_I’m so…sorry_ , Cami says.

_I know_ , Hayley says. _Everyone’s always sorry. It doesn’t change anything._

 

**2223**

They are greeted at the entrance by Jacoyln, current Regent, Cami’s friend, and lover to Marcel Gerard. For now. Witches are just like all other mortals, as Hayley has learned too well.

“Cami, thank you so much for coming,” the Regent says, embracing Cami in a weak hug. “Marcel will be happy to see you.”

“I’m so sorry for your lost,” Cami replies when they break. Jacolyn gives her a wavering smile. “Thank you,” she says. And then she glances uneasily over at Hayley.

“…yeah,” Hayley says. “We’re…very sorry for your loss.”

Jacolyn nods. And then she’s quickly directing her attention back to Cami, eager to avoid the attention of the werewolf leader. Hayley lets her body drift away, moving aimlessly through the crowd of mourners. As if by magic, a path opens up in front of her.

There was a reason she wasn’t eager on going to this.

The line to view the coffin is already long so she gets in it. Better to get the formalities over with sooner than later. She doesn’t know any of these people, much less like them. Their eyes follow her when they think she’s not looking. The slight hush surrounding her creates a chasm between her and the world.

She knows what they’re thinking. Years and years go by, but their whispers are all the same. _Original lover. Ex – Mikaelson. Dictator queen. Fucking hybrid._

_Woman who gave birth to an abomination._

She heard that one only once.

The line moves at an agonizingly slow pace. Camille finally joins her after talking for a good thirty minutes with other members of the witch community, and Hayley’s only made it halfway there. But she’s glad for the company while waiting. The crowd was beginning to feel like a coffin.

The real coffin is open, and for a moment Hayley has the funny feeling that she might collapse. But this strange moment of weakness passes just as soon as it came on. Cami, ever watchful for signs of psychological turmoil, doesn’t even notice.

The girl could be sleeping. Her eyes are closed, expression peaceful. Brown hair, Hayley notes, short stature, tan skin. Marcel has a type. It seem that particular wound will never fully heal.

Another dead girl. That’s all. Hayley has killed witches who are younger. She doesn’t wait for Cami, who lingers over the empty corpse. For all her cavalier treatment of it, Cami’s developed a bit of an obsession over death.

Hayley is just tired of it.

She goes off to find Marcel. She finds him drinking.

She approaches carefully because they have not always been on the best terms, and vampire memory is long. But Marcel smiles when he sees her coming, that sardonic smile he uses when he really wants to yell, or give up.

“Queen Labonair,” he announces to the empty room, “gracing us with your presence.”

“Marcel,” she says, but whether in pity or warning, she’s not sure.

“No, no, it’s always an honor to receive a visit from the queen of the wolves,” he tells her, taking another swig from his glass. She can tell he means it.

“Well,” she counters, “it’s always good to see the king of New Orleans.”

The bottle is sitting on a table. She grabs it, and another glass for herself. “More?” she asks, before she’s about to finish off the bottle. He shakes his head.

Hayley shrugs. She takes a sip. Leans against the table like she’s already tipsy.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says because she’s supposed to. “Yeah,” Marcel says. And then he doesn’t say anything for a long time.

They stay like that, drinking, silent, in a room devoid of any character. It’s obvious a valiant attempt was made to scrub any previous owners off the walls. But she can still sense their presence, seeping through the cracks of the plaster, oozing up from the floorboards.

Eventually she says, “You need to stop doing this to yourself, Marcel.”

He laughs and it comes out as a bitter sound. “Stop what?” he says. “Looking after my city? Taking care of my people?”

“You know what I mean,” she says.

“And after all these years, you should know that I _can’t_ ,” he says, fire burning in his eyes. She’s seen this fire before, when he did unforgivable things to her fa…to people she knew. Compassion has always been Marcel’s driving influence, and his downfall.

“I know that your life will be full of funerals,” she says.

“And your life will still be filled with ghosts, no matter how many funerals you avoid,” Marcel says. His glass slams down on the table.

That’s the end of their conversation.

She doesn’t leave right away. They sit in silence and open up another bottle or two. Marcel starts into them with grim determination. Hayley just watches.

When Marcel passes out she drags him to his room. Someone will rouse him before the procession begins.

She leaves through the main entrance because she will not be cowed into sneaking out of a house she once lived in. The pathway opens up and the whispers begin as she walks to the door, but it’s all background noise now. She passes the coffin once more, line even longer than before. The flowers around the body are already beginning to wilt. Some things are too beautiful to live, she’s been told.

Other things are so unnatural they refuse to die.

 

**2176**

“It’s not that we don’t value your leadership,” the young wolf says. “You’re years of experience and your wisdom have sheltered our pack for generations. But…we feel that perhaps a mortal leader would be better equipped to guide us.” When she fixes him with her stare he hastily adds, “Alongside you.”

“This pack is mine by blood and ritual,” she says. “It is my birthright. And you think you have the authority to dethrone me?”

“No, no…” he scrambles, “we only want to have a mortal werewolf rule alongside you. Or at least to be your counsel.”

“Mortality,” she says. “Why is that such an important quality?”

The group before her shuffle uneasily. The man addressing her seems to be looking for anyone else to take his place as speaker. When no one else steps forth to volunteer, he finally says, “Our pack is made up of people with normal lifespans. We grow, we age and then we die. We can catch diseases, and we can be killed more easily than a hybrid. All of the decisions that affect our pack must accommodate this way of life, and to be fair to our people, to always keep their best interests at heart, one of the decision-makers should be mortal so that they understand the consequences. This would keep us safer than if the only decision-maker does not know lo…” He stumbles, face growing ashen. The words, misspoken or not, hang in the air.

“I do not know loss,” she says.

“I do not know _loss_ ,” she says.

“I have lost more things than you can possibly understand,” she says. “I have lost more in my lifetime than you could bear. And you speak to me as though I do not understand how precious life is or how fleetingly it lasts when I have lost – .” The words get caught up in her constricting throat.

“I meant nothing – ,” he says quickly, trying to cover his tracks but she stops his words.

“Yes,” she says, “you mean _nothing_ ,” and then his heart is in her hands.

It is not the last one of the night.

 

Later when Cami tosses her a towel she says _sometimes you act so much like_ and then she stops and abruptly turns away and the sentence is left to die with all other things that go left unsaid.

 

**21st Century**

_Do you want to damn her to something she doesn’t want? Your own daughter?_

_All I have ever wanted is to do right by her –_

_And you call this right? You think this is the way we should honor her memory?_

_You continually lecture me and claim to do everything in her best interests, and yet you speak as though she has already gone cold –_

_Because that’s her decision! That’s what she wants! And if we make her stay she will hate us forever!_

_If we go along with her foolish plan to follow the natural path of life, she will not be able to hate us forever because she will be_

 

**2197**

She’s drunk. She should just go to sleep.

“I’ve discovered the curse of immortality,” she announces to the room as she stumbles in. Which is just Camille reading in the corner, but still.

“The curse of immortality is the ravages of time that we experience,” Cami says, eloquent as ever. She doesn’t look up from the page.

“Is that what you say to your vampire patients?” Hayley says, attempting to raise an eyebrow in distain.

Now Cami’s paying attention. She looks slightly affronted. “Yes,” she says. “It _is_. And I’m the shrink, as you love to remind me. From my experience, from all the patients I’ve seen over the years, I find that it’s the burden of facing all of time that’s the curse. It’s the ‘immortal’ part of the immortality that gets to us and wears us down.”

“Nope,” Hayley says, wagging a finger. “That’s what we all think. But the real curse is that I’m still in the church.”

“Hayley,” Cami says, “you’re drunk.”

“I think that’s the curse,” Hayley continues. “Not the time, or the blood, or the losing people…it’s being frozen that’s the worst. Because none of us ever change from the moment we died.”

“You can’t believe that’s true,” Cami says. “The nature of personality is fluid. Everything is on a spectrum, and throughout our lives we continually fluctuate – ,”

“But we’re not alive! We don’t live!” It comes out as a scream that she wasn’t ready for, wasn’t expecting. Cami wasn’t either because she actually jumps, losing her psychiatrist-cool for just a second.

“I lost my daughter,” Hayley pushes. “One moment she was in my arms and then the next they pulled her away and slit my throat and then I died. And when I was dying, all I knew was that she was taken from me. When I woke up, I could still feel her absence. At first, I thought it was because she was still taken from me, but even when we got her back…” She swallows, and the movement is painful. “And then we had to send her away and pretend that she was dead and I still felt that hole in my chest, and I thought it was because Rebekah had her…And then when I was cursed…But then I got to raise her and watch her grow up and see her become an adult, and I was always with her, _but it was still there_. That feeling of losing her. And it took me a long time to realize that the feeling would never go away because it’s a wound that can’t be healed, it’s just a symptom of being what we are. Because that’s how vampires are damned. We’re always in our last moments of dying. Look at _Klaus_ , for god sakes, look at _Elijah_ and _me_ and _you_.”

She has screamed their names. Finally the silent taboo surrounding those syllables lies fractured and broken at her feet. Her voice hurts now. The room is swimming.

“Time can’t fix something like that,” she finishes.

When the rage clears from her head she realizes Cami is crying. One tear, almost invisible, quickly wiped away.

“Go to sleep,” Cami says. “You’re drunk.”

She doesn’t need words to know she’s right.

 

**2247**

The cemetery is quiet at this hour. The dark dissuades mortal visitors and the rain, she hopes, will do the same against the fashion-conscious immortal ones.

Except for her.

She didn’t bring an umbrella because it won’t hurt her and she can’t feel it, so her hair is dripping in dark black lengths and her shirt sticks to her torso. She brought roses with her, but they hang limply by her side.

The evidence of earlier visitors is fresh on the grave. She sinks down to touch the wilting petals and realizes that they’re Irises. _Meaning hope._

Which one of them told her that? It could have been any of them. Klaus, in one of his poetic moments. Elijah, ever the romantic, offering a piece of knowledge to cherish always. Or maybe Rebekah, dreams and stardust lining her eyes.

“I – ,” she says, “I – ,” _brought roses. They meant nothing to you. You hated them. How could I forget?_

She settles for throwing them out of sight and muffling a scream with her hand. But the tears have started their flow. They won’t stop now until she needs blood to replenish them. This has happened all before.

“Years and years and years,” she whispers into her fist. “Years and years.” _And I will always just be losing you._

“I wish – ,” she says. “I wish that we…”

Could be a family again. Didn’t fall to pieces. Didn’t spill our own blood. Won’t spill it in the future. Forced you to stay. Forced you to stay.

_Forced you to stay._

“…took more pictures,” she finishes.

When the clouds break to reveal a full moon, she howls, lone wolf, out in the night, queen of all that dies.


End file.
